


Carnival

by Pi (Rhea)



Category: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-23
Updated: 2011-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-26 11:36:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/282573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Pi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parents don't let their children go to Luna, particularly not during Carnivale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnival

**Author's Note:**

> Franz/Albert (not fluffy). Written for kink bingo prompt "rubbing/grinding"

Luna is a moraless place. Those are the stories Albert has heard. Parents don't let their children go to Luna, particularly not during Carnivale. Albert isn't a child. He had thought perhaps his father would refuse his request for a vacation to Luna, but his father is busy, and his mother is his mother. She smiled fondly and added a nice suit to his bag telling him he "must be prepared for whomever he might meet". Franz's mother doesn't get out much. Albert isn't actually sure Franz has permission to be here. But all the same, Albert is happy to be on Luna, during Carnivale.

The streets are packed with people each one in something more bizarre and revealing than the last. Albert feels overdressed in his cravat and suit jacket, even if he's wearing pants a shade tighter than he normally would. The street itself is a dance. Music blares out of houses with their doors open. People stream in and out, holding glasses of wine or other alcohol. Albert wonders if any of them actually live here. Some people must. Luna is a populated, prosperous city. Albert feels like maybe he, and Franz, are the only foreigners here, overdressed in their nice clothes. Franz has glittler clinging in his hair and looks dazed as a well endowed woman in no more than a bikini pushes a glass of something a flourescent green color into his hand. Franz extracts himself and walks closer to Albert, surreptitiously placing the glass on the side of some steps, beneath the railing so it wont be stepped on. There's a song Albert knows blasting from a house down the street. It is a little loud, but Albert grabs Franz's arm and drags him up the steps anways.

The house is filed with movement. Multicolored lights strobe through the darkness picking out the twist of arms and the swing of hair in the packed room of dancers. It's hot and Albert removes his coat hanging it from a hook in the hall. The hall is dim and many of the coathooks are full. Franz looks uncertain. It's a very Franz expression, Albert thinks. Albert smiles and cajols and Franz shrugs. To save space, Franz hangs his coat up on the same hook as Albert. He pulls his wallet from the coat pocket and tucks it in his pants. Albert shakes his head at Franz's thoroughness and tugs him along into the large room full of people. Albert has been trained to dance. He can waltz and fox trot, tango and salsa, and even lead swing well enough. Part of being a viscont is being able to swirl a lady across a ballroom floor. This is nothing like a ballroom. The steady base thump vibrates through the floor, the floor bends under the weight of all the people.

As soon as they squeeze their way into the room they're surrounded. On all sides people are dancing. Albert rolls up his sleaves feeling sweat already prickling his back. Dancing has always been something Albert loves, and this is even better than the formal kind. The chorus comes around and Albert sings along with the crowd, shimmying and waving his arms as energetically as the rest of them. Franz is dancing beside him, but not with the same abandon. A elbow to the ribs fails to get Franz to loosen up. Dancing so stiffly can't be fun. Franz doesn't glare but Albert can tell he isn't impressed. The song morphs easily from the frantic jumping notes to something deeper. Albert gets an idea. Franz is trained in partnerdancing too, but probably not this kind. Albert can feel the grin curving his lips at Franz's startled expression when Albert turns into him. The beat rocks through the room and Albert can feel it between them. He closes the space, picking up the rhythm with his body, dragging Franz along with his hands, and hips. Lacing his fingers with Franz's, Albert pulls his hands up over them before shimmying down a little. Franz's face is blank, but his body is responding. Albert can feel the loosening of Franz's muscles beneath him. To dance well like this you have to bend your knees, Albert feels the moment Franz gets it. Albert backs off a bit. His back is pressed against someone behind him in the tight space. Albert begins to really dance again and Franz slowly follows.

They're mimicing eachother and Albert smiles. Franz _can_ dance, if he wants to. There's something about watching Franz's hips curve like that, a sinuous snakelike movement that makes Albert's hands tingle where their fingers are still clasped. He wonders if he looks like that to Franz. The press of people urge them towards each other. No room for empty space in here. Albert slides in under Franz's arm, and on the next S curve their hips meet up perfectly. Albert lets out a hiss. It's impossible to deny the fact that he's hard, not when Franz can feel that perfectly. Albert wishes he hadn't chosen pants quite this tight. But Franz doesn't say anything. Instead his arms twine around Albert's shoulders and he leans in. They're so close their noses are almost touching. Albert isn't sure he's really dancing anymore. The beat moves his spine and his hips and it feels fantastic. Franz is grinding right along with him. Albert's shirt is damp with sweat and clinging to him, offering no real barrier to where Franz's chest rubs against his own. Albert's nipples have become tight peaks of sensation send out sparks. The feel of Franz's hair where it brushes the exposed skin of his collarbone is electric. Franz's teeth graze his neck, at the hollow just behind and under his ear. Albert bucks his hips a little more intensely.

This really isn't dancing anymore, and maybe there is a reason parents don't send their children to Luna. But Albert doesn't care. He doesn't care that Franz is his best friend and Albert has no way to explain this. "I just wanted to make you dance" wont cut it. But Franz is rubbing back just as hard as he is. Franz's hands are digging against Albert's back and Albert wonders if they'll leave bruises. Albert's shout when he comes is lost in the pounding of the music, and Franz's response is burried in Albert's neck. The beat goes on around them, and as if a spell is broken they stand frozen and Albert can feel the jostle of the room, buffeting them off the dance floor. In the hall Franz hands Albert his coat silently. Franz isn't looking at him and the front of Albert's pants is uncomfortable and sticky. They catch a ride in one of the many cars filling the parade through the streets. Albert can't help feeling worried. But then Franz looks at him and smiles. The streets are full of yelling and it's hard to hear his voice over the noise. Franz is pointing out some spectacle. Albert can feel how forced it is, but offers a laugh. Franz isn't looking directly at him. Albert knows then they'll probably never speak of this again. He looks out of the car, waves to the crowd, feeling the night air prickle his face while the colors and vibrancy dazzles his eyes. Albert knows his laughter is hollow. Franz slings a friendly arm around his shoulders and points out a troup of dancing half naked women in headdresses. Albert doesn't close his eyes.


End file.
